"Of course."
Stone followed Manolo down the broad central hallway, past the spot where Vance Calder had bled out his life on the tiles, and emerged into the garden, past the spot where Felipe Cordova had left his big shoeprint. Where had Beverly Walters stood? he wondered.
Dino waved from a seat near the pool bar, where he, Mary Ann, and Arrington sat in thickly cushioned bamboo chairs around a coffee table. He gave Dino a wave and pecked the two women on the cheek as if there had never been a scene at their last meeting. Manolo went behind the bar and expertly mixed Stone's drink, then brought it to him in a frosty glass on a silver tray.
"Thank you, Manolo," he said.
"That looks good," Arrington said. She pulled his hand toward her and sipped from his drink. "Oh, a vodka gimlet. Let's all have one,
Manolo." Manolo went back to work while, at the other end of the pool, Isabel set a table for dinner.
"I thought wed dine outside," Arrington said. "Such a perfect California evening."
"It certainly is," Stone agreed. This was going well, and he was relieved.
"You know, before I married Vance I had always hated L.A., but evenings like this changed my mind. I mean, there's smog and traffic, and everybody talks about nothing but the business, but on evenings like this, you could almost forgive them."
"I think Dino has caught the L.A. bug, too," Stone said, smiling. "He was inquiring only today whether the LAPD would have him."
"What?" Mary Ann said. "Dino live out here? He wouldn't last a month."
"My very words to him."
"Maybe I wouldn't have to cop for a living," Dino said. "Maybe I'd become an actor. I could do all those parts Joe Pesci does, and better, too."
"You know, Dino, I believe you could," Arrington laughed. "Want me to call Lou Regenstein at Centurion and get you a screen test?"
"Nah, I don't test, and I don't audition," Dino said, waving a hand. "My agent would never let me do that… if I had an agent."
"That's it, Dino," Arrington said. "Play hard to get. Movie people want most the things they can't have. Your price would double."
Then, it seemed to Stone, the clock began to run backward, and they all became the people they had been before all this had happened. They
were old friends, easy together, enjoying the evening and each other. The gimlets seemed to help, too. Soon they were laughing loudly at small jokes. Then Manolo called them to dinner.
No soup this time, Stone reflected; nothing to be dumped in his lap, and no Dolce to screw up their evening. They began with seared foie gras, crisp on the outside, melting inside, with a cold Chateau Coutet, a sweet, white Bordeaux. That was followed by a thick, perfect veal chop and a bottle of Beringer Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon. Dessert was an orange creme brulee and more of the Coutet.
Coffee was served in Vance's study, before a fire, as the desert night had become chilly. The women excused themselves, and Stone and Dino declined Manolo's offer of Vance's cigars.
"Looks like the bloom is back on the rose," Dino said.
"The atmosphere is certainly warmer," Stone agreed.
"Arrington and Mary Ann spent the afternoon talking about you, I think. Mary Ann probably told her how lost you were without her, and how when Dolce came along, you were ripe for the picking."
"That's embarrassingly close to the truth," Stone said. "Have you heard anything from Dolce?"
"She and Mary Ann had breakfast together at the Bel-Air this morning."
"Is that where she's staying?"
"She's been cagey about where she's staying. I don't like it, frankly; I don't think this is over."
"Neither do I."
"Are you carrying?"
"No, and I don't know why I asked you to bring a weapon out here. A moment of paranoia, I guess."